Saturday Is A Day
by Random-Battlecry
Summary: Sleeping Nick is a totally different guy. Real Nick feels a turtle face coming on. Shenanigans in the loft, hijinks ensue. Nick/Jess.


**A/N: Yeah, this happened.**

**Saturday Is A Day**

So Nick walks out in the morning and finds himself more or less _in flagrante delicto_ in the kitchen with Jess. Maybe not completely _in flagrante_. His shirt's off, but that happens sometimes. What worries him is that Jess looks completely into it. She turns to stare at him and her eyes are half-closed, but whether it's lust or just not getting enough sleep at night he can't be certain.

Either way, he goes, "Whaaaaaaaaaaaaat."

Other Nick, who he recognizes now as Sleeping Nick, jerks his chin upwards at him in acknowledgment. "Hey."

"Whaaaaaaaaaat."

"Oh, I took corporeal form last night," says Sleeping Nick, pointing downwards at apparently nothing. "Hope that's cool."

It isn't cool.

It isn't cool, but he can't form words right now, this is too early, this is too insane, so he sends a questioning grimace in the direction of Jess, who has now moved away from Sleeping Nick and has laid her head in her arms on the counter. She is looking peaceful.

"Oh, that's Real Jess," Sleeping Nick assures Real Nick. "She didn't get a lot of sleep last night."

"Oh my God whyyyyy." He squinches his face up as a defense mechanism against knowing the answer.

Sleeping Nick shrugs. "Insomnia is the great leveller, Miller." They both stand and watch Real Jess for a moment. Sleeping Nick puts his hands behind him on the counter and tilts his head. "Doesn't matter anyway," he says. "I can always get a fake one."

"A fake what?" says Real Nick, face still squished, but practically before the question's out of his mouth, there's another Jess standing right by Sleeping Nick, who bends forward immediately and puts his arms around her and his face in the crook of her neck. Real Nick can't tell for sure what he's doing over there, there's all this Jesshair in the way, but there are noises. Other Jess, meanwhile, is just kind of standing there, maybe petting Sleeping Nick's bare back now and then.

"_Hey!_" says Real Nick, and he says it loudly and angrily enough that Sleeping Nick actually lifts his head and raises his eyebrows questioningly. "You can't _do_ that. I don't care if you are imaginary. You can't just have her _stand_ there and not _do_ anything. What kind of fantasy is that?"

Sleeping Nick looks down at Imaginary Jess, who looks quiescently back up.

"Whaddya say, Jess? You want to participate?"

"Ooh _yes!_" she says, mildly excited, and as an afterthought she sort of giggles.

Real Nick can't see himself, but he's fairly certain that the look on his face is one of absolute disgust. He's worn it often enough to know what it feels like.

"That's not Jess," he says. "That's like a Jess-shaped cooing machine. Why would you have a fantasy without her being like she actually is? I mean not like singing about everything you're doing but acting like her_self_. Why would you have a fantasy where she's not her_self_? _Jeez_, Sleeping Nick."

"Like herself," says Sleeping Nick, thoughtfully, and he gives a sort of nod that seems more complicated than a normal nod. "Okay."

"You sure?" says Imaginary Jess, still smiling like a maniac.

Sleeping Nick shrugs with his mouth. "Go for it."

"Okay!" She brings her knee up and Real Nick can hear, can hear it connecting so hard he can practically feel it, can practically taste it in his ears. Sleeping Nick, funnily enough, screams a little like a girl and doubles over. Imaginary Jess backs off, arms spread wide.

"Hey, _you_ asked for me to be myself," she says.

Real Nick feels a turtle face coming on.

"Accurate," he says, like some bad internet meme.

* * *

Real Nick knows he can be a jerk (he's been told this too many times for it to still be a lie started by that cheerleader in sixth grade) but Sleeping Nick? Sleeping Nick is an ass. Recovering in record time from the knee to the groin by Imaginary Jess, he's draped himself over the couch and is eating ice cream out of the carton. It's banana split, which is ridiculous, and belongs to Schmidt, who is going to have a fit about it. A Schmidt fit. Real Nick is fair to middling certain that the only reason Schmidt bought banana split ice cream in the first place is because it's the only kind that Real Nick can be counted on not to steal.

Not so with Sleeping Nick, who, heedless of the melting pieces of unfrozen banana that he's dropping onto the couch cushions, is turning out to be an even bigger slob than Real Nick. And that, Real Nick thinks, is sayin' something. He plants his fists on the top of the couch, and fixes his imaginary clone with a serious face.

"Schmidt's gonna have a fit."

Sleeping Nick waves his spoon at him. Real Nick dodges droplets.

"Let him. I need this. To recover."

"To recover? She kneed you in the crotch, not the face."

Sleeping Nick wedges the ice cream carton in his lap, then raises an eyebrow at Real Nick, who puts one hand on his face and says, "I don't think that's gonna help."

"Bogus," says Sleeping Nick promptly. "I feel better already."

He shoves another spoonful into his face. Real Nick bares his teeth at him briefly, but he's distracted by the brief startled scream that means Real Jess has woken up to find Imaginary Jess staring at her, arms folded.

"Whoa whoa whoa," says Real Nick, rushing to her side, only to find that Real Jess is already half wrapped around him. How did she get there without him noticing? How does she do that kind of thing, that ninja clinging thing? She's like that with hugs sometimes, too, gets in there before he even realizes it. A stealth hugger. He puts a hand on her back, protectively. "Hey, Jess. It's okay."

Her face is in his flannel shirt, and he can feel her mouth move against him. "I think I'm going crazy, Nick. I dreamed I woke up in the kitchen, and there were two of you, and two of me."

Real Nick wrinkles his nose. "Well. Good news. You're not crazy."

It isn't really that good, news-wise. But she's looking now, loosening her desperate clutch on his shirt and turning outwards.

Imaginary Jess waves at her.

"Oh my God," says Real Jess.

"Yeah," says Imaginary Jess, with an aborted attempt at a chuckle that sounds exactly like what Real Jess does when she finds herself in an awkward situation. Because apparently, Imaginary Jess is Real Jess, only less real.

"Wow," they both say, and they say it together.

"So you can see her!" says Real Nick, and he throws his arms wide. "Great!"

Which is a total lie. This is not great at all. This is actually highly disturbing, but he thinks probably if he threw his arms wide and said, "Disturbing!" someone would panic. Possibly Jess. Probably him. He should actually be taking defensive measures right now, in case someone panics anyway.

"That's not disturbing at all!" he says.

"Yeah right, Sweatback," calls Sleeping Nick laconically, still sprawled across the couch.

"Shut up, d-bag," Real Nick snaps at him. "You haven't had corporeal form more than a few hours yet and I already want to punch you."

"Haters to the left," says Sleeping Nick.

"Definitely going to the left," says Real Nick. "I live on the left. I was born on the left. I'm a leftist."

Sleeping Nick is clearly paying him no attention. He's half-levered himself up off the couch, resting on his elbows, spoon abandoned in the ice cream carton in his lap. He jerks his chin up at Imaginary Jess.

"Hey, baby," he says. "What up."

Imaginary Jess crosses her arms and rolls her eyes. Real Jess turns to face Real Nick, eyes squinched up. "_Baby?_" she mouths at him.

"_I am not responsible for anything he does, or says, or does_," Real Nick mouths back. "_He is Sleeping Nick. Sleeping Nick is a totally different guy. I've told you that already_."

"_So what is 'Sleeping Nick' doing here?_" She does exaggerated air quotes. He hates exaggerated air quotes. Why does she do things he hates? She does that all the time.

He's being expansive with his hands, trying to explain while still mouthing silently. "_Apparently he took corporeal form last night_."

She doesn't get this one. Her brows lower. "_What?_"

"_Corporeal_." It's a tricky one to lip read, he'll give her that. "_Corporeal. Cor-por-re-al._" Real Jess is shaking her head at him, still looking confused. Real Nick heaves a sigh and breaks into audible speech again. "Corporeal!"

"Hmm?" says Sleeping Nick, momentarily distracted from how Imaginary Jess is scowling at him.

"I am _not_ talking to you."

"Oh, jeez," says Real Jess, one hand over her eyes. "That is _so_ not what I thought you said."

Real Nick is on the verge of asking what, exactly, she thought he said, when all the noise of the conversation and the occasional scream appears to have finally awoken one of the other loft-dwellers. Schmidt comes bounding out of his room, grin already plastered on his face, because it is a ridiculous morning and Schmidt is the master of misplaced enthusiasm.

"Good morning everyone!" he chirps, and Real Nick can see it, can tell the very second when the truth slaps Schmidt across the face wearing a diamond ring turned palmwards. Time goes slow. Schmidt's jaw starts dropping and doesn't stop for a long, long time.

"I can't remember the last time I saw him speechless," says Real Nick, to no one in particular, by which he always means Jess. "I feel like I should be enjoying it more."

"Well, what's not to enjoy," says Jess, indicating both her doppelganger and his with a slightly trembling outstretched palm. "I mean, it's just our doubles, showing up inexplicably and causing absolute chaos, that's all."

"This isn't chaos," says Sleeping Nick. "This is happy fun times."

Real Nick isn't sure, he can't see himself, but what he's just done felt like a double take.

"Where did _that_ come from?"

Sleeping Nick shrugs. "Hey, I'm _your_ subconscious. I really think you gotta ask yourself these questions, buddy."

"I _am_ asking myself these questions, pal. Not getting any answers, which is starting to annoy me."

"How," says Schmidt, faintly, and swings a vaguely pointing hand from Sleeping Nick to Real Nick. "Hwhut? Hmm?"

Real Nick can see a panic attack coming on, and possibly a fainting spell. Schmidt never really recovered from the last one.

"This is Sleeping Nick," he says shortly. "He's a totally different guy."

"Yo," says Sleeping Nick, amiably waving his still-dripping spoon. But this is the least of Schmidt's problems, though that is his banana split ice cream and yes it is going to be difficult to get the sticky out of the couch, because now Schmidt has focused instead on the dual-action Jesses, and his mouth appears not to be working correctly, even more so than it was not working correctly a moment ago.

"Mwuh?" he says. "Jeh-huh?"

"Okay, this doesn't make sense to me," says Imaginary Jess, folding her arms. "Why am I even here?"

"I called, and you came," says Sleeping Nick from the couch, and he grins at her. "We can try it the other way around now, f'you want."

"I'm really confused," says Schmidt. "Oh, my. Oh. Nick. I think I might be still asleep. Am I still asleep? Would you pinch me?" He holds out an arm to Real Nick. "Carefully, please, I have sensitive skin first thing in the morning."

"I'm not gonna pinch you, Schmidt." Not carefully, at any rate.

"How am I supposed to know what's real and what's not real?" moans Schmidt. "Two of you, two of Jess- wait a minute, _who is the real Nick?_" Slight panic ensues, but he only needs one look from Real Nick to decide. "Ah, okay, _okay_, I got it. But _who is the real Jess?_"

This is a little bit harder, though Real Nick has kept an eye on the real one all along, and decides that Real Jess has a stronger aura about her, a _vibe_. That sounds like a real sissy thing to say, though, so he keeps it to himself.

"Does it matter?" says Sleeping Nick.

"Does it-" Schmidt blinks rapidly. "Of course it matters!"

"Why?"

"Because one is- because it's- because-"

"Come on, Schmidt." Sleeping Nick hoists himself up on his elbows again, rolling his eyes expressively. "For all intents and purposes, they're the same. Two Jesses. They're like the Quirky Doublemint Twins. _All_ intents and purposes. Don't say you haven't thought about it, because I know you have. We all have. Especially me, which is why you all owe me." He waves the spoon around like a conductor's baton, and lets a grin settle on his face, a grin so wide it nearly splits him in two. Again. "Big time."

"Oh my God he's me," says Schmidt, eyes strangely dull. "He's me, with your face. Oh my God it's like we made some sort of horrible baby together."

"Don't ever say that again, Schmidt," says Real Nick. His stomach is lurching.

"How did this happen?"

"I took corporeal form last night," says Sleeping Nick. "I don't know why you guys all act so surprised, it's not like this hasn't happened before."

There's a moment while everyone reacts to this. After the moment is over, they are still reacting.

"What are you _talking_ about, man?" says Real Nick.

"Life," says Sleeping Nick, making a poof! motion with his fingers. "It gets on top of ya sometimes, doesn't it?"

"Still not answering my question."

"How many of us are real, and how many of us are just figments of someone else's really weird daydream?"

"Not to criticize your subconscious," says Real Jess, still clearly nervous as she clutches at Real Nick's sleeve, "but this is getting into some strange philosophical territory."

"Come on, guys!" says Sleeping Nick, gesturing expansively. "Like Nick's the only one who has a version of himself he doesn't let other people see? Get serious. I'm not even the only other version of Nick! There's Nick Miller, and then there's Sleeping Nick Miller, and then there's Sleeping Nick Miller Lite." He glances over at Imaginary Jess to explain. "That's when he dreams that he's anorexic."

"Other than the fact that trivializing eating disorders for a lousy joke isn't a laughing matter, I don't even care, right now," says Imaginary Jess. "I'm waiting till you get to the part where you conjured me up just to try and sex me without letting me have any say in the matter."

"_What?_" says Schmidt, and then, immediately, "no, wait. Oh. That actually answers a lot of my questions."

"No!" says Real Nick to him, and, "No!" to Sleeping Nick, and "Sorry!" to both Jesses, indiscriminately.

"I'm not sorry," says Sleeping Nick, with that wide awful grin again that seems to have, Schmidt is_ right_, seems to have been lifted directly from Schmidt's face and creepily transplanted onto Nick's. Nick is really starting to have issues with this.

"I mean," says Imaginary Jess, doing her own expansive gesture and rolling her eyes expressively, "if you had at least asked."

"_What?_" says Real Nick.

"Stolen fruit tastes sweeter," says Sleeping Nick, and Real Nick has never, _never_ hated anyone quite this much except for occasionally Schmidt. But Imaginary Jess is only shrugging, as if to say _Meh_, or some other such monosyllabic indication of lack of caring popularized by the internet. So Real Nick is forced to turn instead to Real Jess, but she doesn't appear to be offering any explanations today, either. Instead, she is muttering _Corporeal, corporeal_ to herself, and actively pretending to ignore everything going on around her. Real Nick finds this highly suspicious, but he is distracted by the tussle that ensues when Schmidt tries to extricate his liquid ice cream from Sleeping Nick's hold. Sleeping Nick has his game face on. Schmidt has not a chance.

"Okay fine!" he says, throwing his hands up and backing away. "It's got all your imaginary cooties on it, anyway."

"I don't have cooties," says Sleeping Nick, brow wrinkling.

"Of course you do, Nicholas! You're Sleeping Nick. Everyone knows that cooties come out at night. As do you. Ergo, cooties." He folds his arms and heaves a harsh sigh. "I wanted that ice cream to ease my throat after all my cries of alarm, which were your fault in the first place, so it just makes it that much worse that you refuse to give it back."

"Sure, if by cries of alarm you mean screaming like a little girl," says Sleeping Nick, and as much as Real Nick hates him, he has to admit that the man has a point. But Schmidt doesn't even contest it, much to his surprise. He just stares for a moment, then abruptly grits his teeth.

"I cannot even," he says, "I can't, I just can't. I cannot. I can't even. I. Can. Not. I can't."

"_What?_" says everyone else in the room.

"-process this," says Schmidt. "I cannot. I cannot."

"Shut up, Schmidt," says Real Nick. This, unexpectedly, causes Schmidt to point at him.

"That's how I know!" he says, a little hysterical at this point. "That's how I know it's really you! You're so mean to me!" He stops, chokes a little, puts a hand to his mouth, and rushes for his bedroom, leaving a moment of silence as if for the dead, if the dead is in this case Schmidt, crying.

"Stress was just too much for him," says Real Jess, into the silence. Real Nick turns to her.

"You're doing really well with it," he says. "Strangely. Oddly well. How are you doing this well?"

"I had a dream like this once," says Real Jess. "I'm pretending I'm back there."

"Oooooh," says Sleeping Nick, lascivious to a fault, and he throws himself half off the back of the couch with the force of his interest. He folds his arms and puts his chin on them. "Do tell."

"Shut up," growls Real Nick. "Don't even talk to her."

"Come _onnnnn_, Nicholas. She's had dreams. Dreams about you. Dreams about two of you. Don't you want to know what happened?"

"No. Shut up."

"Man up!"

"Shut up!"

"Just grow a pair, Miller!"

"Grow four! And put glasses on 'em!" says Real Nick, slightly hysterical himself now. "And then you'll have eight!"

"What does that mean?" says Imaginary Jess, carefully.

"I don't know!" Real Nick bawls. "My brain keeps sending my mouth signals but I forgot how to interpret them so it's like playing Telephone with my own synapses!"

"Dreaming, Nick," says Sleeping Nick, forcefully. "It's all about dreaming. You have dreams, and she has dreams, and maybe we all have corporeal form where our dreams meet and dance. And dance, badly," he amends.

"That doesn't make any sense!"

"Since when does that matter?"

"This isn't a dream, pal," says Real Nick. "This is life. This is real life. And in real life, we do _not_ have doubles of ourselves. We do _not_ get into conversations with Schmidt on cooties." Real Jess is clearly about to protest this, so he holds a finger up at her till she stops. The power of the finger. It cannot be denied. "And we do _not_," he says, "we do _not_ act like Jess, or any woman for that matter, has no say in whether they're getting sexed or not. And for that matter, I know this isn't a dream, because in my dreams, I can do cartwheels. Can I do cartwheels? I cannot."

"Cartwheels?" says Real Jess.

Real Nick shrugs. "I kind of ran out of things to say, so I just stuck that in."

"This still could be a dream," says Sleeping Nick. "You haven't actually tried to do any cartwheels."

"True," Real Nick admits.

"Yeah, well, don't take my word for it. Try it. Worst thing that can happen is you fall over and embarrass yourself even more and possibly break something. Go ahead. Give it a shot."

Real Nick really, really hates him.

"I hate you," he says.

"You are me," says Sleeping Nick.

"Well I hate me, then!"

"No kidding!" drawls Sleeping Nick, folding his arms. "Because it's not like that's been the entire point of your character arc from the beginning."

"You say things that don't make sense! And you grin like Schmidt!"

"It's your grin," says Sleeping Nick. "Yours is the face of your dreams."

"Yours is the face of an idiot," Real Nick growls.

"My face is your face," points out Sleeping Nick.

"I _hate_ my face right now, man, you have no idea."

"Hey," says Real Jess, and she is gentle, she is calm. She is pulling Real Nick's clenched hands away, bringing them down, to hold them tightly between them. "Don't be hating on your face. It does interesting things. I kind of like it."

And this is calming, this is more calming than it should be, he can relax into this, this holding of the hands. He can relax into it, and ask himself why he didn't let her do this more often, since she seems to have a penchant for it. But Sleeping Nick is still present, and Sleeping Nick is giving Imaginary Jess the side-eye, and Sleeping Nick is now saying, with an underlying smirk that would do Schmidt proud-

"Hey Miller, thing is, if this is real." He waits. "You're stuck with me."

Real Jess can't hold him.

"_Noooooooooooooooooooooooooo_," says Real Nick, with all the drama in his tortured Chicagoan soul, and he thrashes momentarily, and Real Jess isn't standing by him any more, but sitting; and he isn't standing any more, but sitting; and Schmidt, Schmidt is back? And the quality of light is different? And that whale painted on the ceiling suddenly disappears, and he didn't realize it was weird to have a whale on the ceiling till just now? He clutches at his own head, just to make sure it's still there. It is. He's not sure how he feels about this, though.

"Oh, hey, more flailing," says Jess. "It's okay, Nick. Shh. Shhh."

"Hey, hey," says Schmidt, or what is more or less Schmidt, though the details are still fuzzy. "What happened, buddy?"

He peeks out from behind his fingers. "Where am I?"

"Earth, probably," says Schmidt, in response to which Jess rolls her eyes. She's gradually becoming one entity, though it's taking a little longer than Nick would have thought.

"The loft," she says. "On the couch. You must have fallen asleep, I walked away to get you some water and the next thing I know you're snoring. And then flailing. More flailing than snoring, actually."

"Asleep?" says Nick, wondering. "How did I fall asleep in the middle of the day? I haven't done that since the peanut butter nap fiasco."

"Well, you hit your head earlier. You don't remember that? It was _such_ a crazy game." She rolls her eyes expressively and pushes her glasses up her nose with one finger.

"What game?"

"Wow," says Schmidt. "This is. Worrisome."

"True American, Tackle Football Edition with the Ike Amendments," says Jess, feeling Nick's forehead. "You really don't remember it? Yikes."

Nick wracks his brain, but there is little, if any, of the True American Tackle Football Edition left, with or without the Ike Amendments. He regrets this, truly, because that sounds like a worthwhile use of a Saturday afternoon, if nothing else.

"So," says Jess, and she scoots a little closer, and again a little closer, and chews her lower lip. "What happened?"

"I had a really bizarre dream," says Nick, and watches the two Jesses swim together till they're one again, and one that's smiling at him, no less. Jess, Real Jess, Totally Not Imaginary Jess, and smiling at him, that real smile, that totally not imaginary smile, the kind he loves. Why does she keep doing things he loves? She does that all the time. "And you were there- and you were there- and-"

The time is ripe for Winston to at last appear; and Winston, never one to ignore a cue, does appear at last. He strides into the living room, one finger already lifted and at the ready.

"I hate to repeat myself," he says, clearly lying, "and I know that I've already told you all this at least once before, but it doesn't appear to be getting through, and so I'm gonna say it again. Saturday, my friends. _Saturday_ is a day for- say it with me now."

"Sleeping," they chorus together, and Winston beams.

"See, I knew you knew it," he says. "I _knew_ you knew it. So if you knew it, _why don't you all shut up?_"

They really have no answer for this; nothing, at least, that doesn't involve a long explanation that will irritate him even further. He shakes his head at them, and Nick could swear he _tuts_ before he walks off back down the hallway. But that's Winston. Not everyone can get away with tutting when they're under eighty.

"Did he just tut?" says Schmidt. "_Tutting?_ At _me?_" He shakes his head, and clicks his tongue. "_Win. Ston_." Up on his feet then, everything else clearly forgotten, and rushing after their disappearing room mate.

"They're gonna have a conversation on tutting," says Nick. "I can predict it. I can see it. I can see it coming a mile away. They're gonna have a conversation on tutting, and it's going to ruin dinner."

"Yeah," says Jess. "So. What was going on in your dream?"

Nick shrugs, and though embarrassment is banging on his mental closet doors trying to get out, he pushes it aside and grins instead.

"Can't tell ya," he says. "All I can say is, Sleeping Nick? Totally different guy."

"Yep," says Jess, patting him on the knee as she stands up. "Heard that one before."

"Well, it's the truth," says Nick. "And you were there, and you were there," he says to himself, quietly, and grins. Jess isn't paying him much attention any more. She's wandered over to the other side of the room and has picked up a football, tossing it as she eyes him meaningfully.

"How many does it take to play by the Ike Amendments?"

"Four, really," says Jess. "But if you promise not to call them the Ikemendments, like Schmidt was doing, we'll make it work with two."

Nick grins at her.

"Worth waking up for," he says. "Sounds like a plan."

He's ready.

Bring it on.


End file.
